Theory of Relativity
by Vesterex
Summary: Before his imprisonment, Loki had only revealed himself truly a handful of times. Now… he had lost count. Each time he saw those eyes peering down at him in unyielding fury, he swore to himself to not let her see it again. And each time, he failed. The thought alone caused his blood to boil. Set post-movie. Possible Frostiron, along with other pairings. Warning: Character death!
1. Chapter 1

Word Count: 1,914

Neither sun nor moon could plumb the depths of the dungeon. There were no windows. All that illuminated his sight were the torches, flickering softly just outside his door. The light snuck in through the cracks beneath and a small "window" built into the door (when left open). Not that it would have mattered really. Counting the hours, or for that matter, days, was meaningless. The metal cord woven through his lips and the magic-dampening manacles that clung to his wrists assured that. His magic was gone. His lies silenced. What good was a God of Mischief without the trickery? …But perhaps "good" was not the right word. What **use** was he? Loki stared blankly at the thick metal door, as though an answer would suddenly just appear, scratched upon its cool surface. He received nothing, of course. The metal stayed smooth and unmarred as ever, but he found marginal comfort in that; at least an unmoving door meant no… _visitors_.

Each day (though he had no degree of certainty if it was truly one passing of the sun) Loki played humble host to a selection of guests. Sometimes it was Thor. Sad to say… those were _good_ days. The piteous man would practically fall over himself to get inside the darkened chamber. Time and again, he would ask his _brother _(a word Loki treated with as much love as he would a cup of poison) to return. Return to what, exactly? There was no going back to the way things were. Loki knew his place quite well under Odin's gaze. He was a tool, plain and simple. The fact that Thor had developed some sort of overly attached emotions for him was childish. It was akin to the love he held for that damnable hammer, Mjolnir. It was endearing, perhaps, to outsiders; in the retarded puppy sort of way. But ultimately, a tool would never return such affections; and when it dulled and became useless, it would be cast away. Loki could not, he would not maintain the façade of brotherhood. In the dingy cell, it was all the liberty he was allowed.

Other visitors were not quite as painless. Droning on about the virtues of brotherhood and blood were one thing – something he had learned to tune out long ago. Those that wished to test his Jotun resistance… that was quite another matter. It was surprising when the Warriors Three first came. He had thought, out of all the thick-headed Asgardians, that they would understand. Or at least try to. Surely they remembered. But it seemed their infernal loyalty to the Thunder God marred any understanding of the good he had tried to accomplish. They were _there_ after all. Along with Sif… oh so _sweet_ Sif. She seemed to, in particular, enjoy watching his skin melt away to reveal the harsh coldness underneath. Before his imprisonment, Loki had only revealed himself truly a handful of times. Now… he had lost count. Each time he saw those eyes peering down at him in unyielding fury, he swore to himself to not let her see it again. And each time, he failed. The thought alone caused his blood to boil.

Odin had been the worst though. He had only visited once – and not a single blow had landed upon Loki's back. He remembered it as if it were yesterday. Lips still bleeding – a product of his "trial" – Loki had barely just been thrown into his cell when Odin came to call. As expected, the one-eyed king radiated disappointment. Strange in a way, he had earnestly expected a more… fiery reaction. Then again, that was more Thor's temperament, wasn't it? Naturally, he stared up at his "father" with indignation and mockery. At that time, he was still able to maintain his princely airs. After all, it was only a matter of time until he escaped. No manacle could withhold him, even those crafted to mute his powers. Loki had felt that so strongly. Surely it must be so.

"Loki…" The way Odin's voice rumbled reminded him of an ancient surly dragon. "To ensure that your punishment is to be experienced to the fullest extent, I've asked a friend to craft something special, just for you." The king seemed to sag almost, like it pained him. Loki scoffed as best he could. A poor act to say the least, he didn't believe it for a moment. The old man could throw anything he liked at him; there would always be a way to slip free in the end. Loki could only remember the blade vaguely (later, he decided it was part of the dagger's power). It was seemingly innocuous. Hell, the trickster laughed (as best he could) as the weary Old King brandished it. Surely Odin did not think to kill him – that would ruin the entire purpose of the punishment. Poison perhaps? Let it come. He could weather it.

With a firm hand, Odin raised the blade and brought it down in an elegant arc. Abruptly, Loki stopped laughing. It did not pass through skin. Yet as it swung, he felt a rending sensation. It started as a burn. Whatever it was, that burning sensation continued until every last drop of his magic was stripped from his body – down to his bones. The air hummed with power, though his screams seemed to drown out the drone. After that, no words had passed between "Father and Son." Loki had been left to his tears and anger. The violation itself had been enough.

Further visitors… he cared little for. They could not turn him like Sif or the Warriors. They only cared to see him on the ground, bleeding out sluggishly – only to be revived mere hours later. Even with his magic sealed, it seemed Odin had some kindness (though Loki hesitated to call it so). Oh, kindness not reserved for the Jotun prince. But for his people – what good was a criminal who died too quickly? No. They would see him suffer. They would have him beg. In a way, Loki was almost glad for the wire banding his lips together. Almost. Even if he had the desire to, such disgraceful words would never drop from his mouth. Instead, he would allow each blow to simmer. Every injury he sustained sunk into his skin, joining the pot of rage quivering within his stomach. They would feel his wrath… someday.

Oh yes, he did have plans to escape.

The dungeon room, he had already discerned, was warded. An extra precaution against those that would distort reality. But that did not stop… fragments (if you will) of magical energy from wafting inside. It was little, barely enough to make his skin prickle. Yet it would have to do. He snatched up each tiny silver like a starving dog. A bit shameful, yes. Except what was more humiliation on top of his current situation? Nothing. They would all receive their just desserts in the end.

The soft tell-tale sounds of footsteps echoed down the hall, breaking off his concentration. "Morning" already? Experimentally, the God tried to shift his body. After his most recent visitor, Sif, had taken her leave, Loki had pulled himself to the far end of the room. Settling against the wall, Loki had stayed stationary, giving his body time to mend. From the feel of it, his body was not yet prepared. Perhaps they were growing impatient. Whoever it was, they did not pound heavily on the stone floors like Thor. Such as it were, his stomach dropped at that revelation. Was he actually disappointed? As the window squealed open, the God braced himself. He was blinded at first. The torch light always seemed much brighter. Squinting, he attempted to make out the face just beyond the door.

Once more, his stomach churned. It did not seem possible. Surely it was a trick. Even Odin, vengeful as he was, would not allow for this. The torch light flickered across the outsider's face. A wide grin spread across his features, though there was no warmth in his eyes. Only resentment. **Stark**.

"Morning, Reindeer Games." Loki would have hissed if it were possible. The Man of Iron continued, acutely ignoring the less than friendly reception. "I know this is sort of unannounced, so if you're a bit tied up at the moment I'll leave. Just say the word."

Silence. Until the Iron Man laughed.

Oh, he thought he was _so_ funny. So clever. A different sort of fury burned inside Loki, one specially reserved for this man. It was all his fault. Everything. Now he was here to get in a few kicks? The God would not stand for it.

"No? Well, that's splendid then. You know I've been here a while. Wasn't able to see you though – evidently you've been booked solid. But when has that ever stopped me?" His voice was light and breezy. They could have just as well been discussing the weather.

_'Ah. So he was down there without his **loving** handlers knowledge.'_ Tony raised a hand, running it through his dark hair. Bare handed? No armor? Loki had little time to ponder it. "Man, you sure are quiet. By now you would've thrown me out of a window, what's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

Childish. Utterly childish. Hardly a subtle way of angering Loki. He felt insulted that the Iron Man couldn't come up with anything more… clever. It was insulting. Before he realized it, the God growled. It seemed this was what Stark was waiting for. His eyes lighted with unrestrained glee. "Ah~ so you can make noise… That's a shame. I'd of thought Sif would have ripped out your vocal chords by now. But hey, maybe that's later on the menu. I hear she's getting pretty tired of just hearing the usual yelps and whimpers." Tony seemed to be leaning against the door now, propping his head up lazily. "Said you sounded like a kicked puppy."

Loki wasn't quite certain what it was. The jeering was nothing new, he had heard plenty of it before. Yet, somewhere, in the depths of his chest, he felt something snap. Jumping up, the God of Chaos let out a muffled snarl. The dungeon temperature suddenly dropped, air crackling with energy. This… this human. This mortal. He **dared** to look down on him? The miserable worm had no idea. It was so satisfying to see Tony jump back, just outside his line of sight, surprise and fear etched across his face. With a loud crunch, the door suddenly blew off its hinges. The hunk of metal lodged itself into the opposing stone wall, a thick cloud of dust and rubble exploding into the air. In the midst of it all, Loki darted forward. He scrabbled over the rubble, green eyes scanning the area. The ragged clothes and malnourished form gave him the appearance of a rabid animal. Wisely, the Iron man had opted to retreat. Loki felt a surge of pride when he saw the human's pale face. Who was the whimpering pup now?

He launched himself after the man, intent on not letting his quarry go. Faintly, Loki was aware that they might catch him. In fact, the chances were quite good. Already he could feel the metal around his wrists thrumming – perhaps an alarm of some kind. But he would be damned if he let Stark get away. The man who had ruined everything would pay. Or Loki would die trying.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you very much for the views! I appreciate it a lot and I hope you guys enjoy the story.

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He felt invincible. The sudden release of magic had left him with a high that mingled rather nicely with an adrenaline rush. Loki scrabbled over the wreckage, fingers clawing at the rock. Blood rushing in his ears, he pulled himself forward. Once clear of the debris, emerald eyes fixed upon the retreating mortal. Stark had selected the wrong god to anger. Even if they captured him, even if he never saw the light of day again, the God of Mischief would have his revenge. He would drag Tony down with him – and the mortal would perish.

As Stark disappeared from view, skittering down some forsaken hallway, Loki snarled. It was pleasing to see him run. The man was fearful, as he should be. Mentally, Loki bade him to run faster, to slip further into panic. The God gave chase, feet landing heavily upon the stone. There was no need for subtlety here. Right now, there would be nothing more fulfilling to see than Stark's fear-filled eyes. What better way to inspire it than to let him know just how far away his killer was?

To his credit, the Man of Iron did a decent job of staying ahead. In spite of the unfamiliar terrain, it seemed he was able to stay just a few steps ahead of the rabid god. Just when Loki thought he might curl a hand around that tanned neck, the mortal pulled ahead. Yet it was only a matter of time. He could already hear the tell-tale panting of his prey. The god smirked as best he could. Getting tired already 'Man of Iron'? The dungeon corridor twisted and branched off, a veritable maze meant to confuse those that would escape. The dwarves had crafted it, along with the rest of the castle. Tunnels branched throughout the bowels of Asgard, even digging into the roots of the great Yggdrasil. Long ago, he had heard that if one listened closely enough, they could hear the whispers of the Celestial Axis. It was poetic to see such a genius duped by a dungeon.

Such a shame when his dogged pursuit came to an abrupt stop. Evidently, the Iron Man's luck had run out – a large stone wall blocked further progress. Loki slowed, taking his time to approach the mortal. Though he seemed to have calmed, a shiver of anticipation ran down his spine. The very thought of curling his hands around Stark's neck seemed so very appealing. Or perhaps he would wrench out his heart, still beating. Surely even in his current state he could rend the man to bits. The mortal eyed the dead-end for a moment before turning slowly, revealing an almost sheepish smile. Clearly things had not gone the way he had expected. 'What a shame, Mister Stark.' The mortal raised his hands, perhaps to show he was unarmed. Really, Loki could have cared less for his defenseless state.

"Hey now Lo—" The god did not let him finish, he would not allow Stark to sully his name further.

Darting forward, he tackled the man, smacking the both of them hard against the wall. For a brief moment, Loki noted that he seemed disoriented. Surprised even. A feeling of satisfaction coiled in his stomach, spreading through his veins. And suddenly his body was lurching forward as the world rumbled in protest.

Perhaps it was age. Maybe it was the growth of Yggdrasil's roots. Possibly it was just fate. But the force of Loki's attack had weakened the aging wall. The stone bricks crumbled. Stark yelped as he fell backward into darkness. Reflexively, his hands shot out, grabbing hold of the god. The force was too much. His body pitched forward, following the Avenger. The darkness was not some secret passage way; the castle had many of course, Loki knew almost every single one from his days as a child. Instead they tumbled forward into nothingness, between the roots of Yggdrasil itself. The dwarves had come across this "hole" during the dungeon's construction. Unable to proceed further without falling into the void, they had simply blocked off the passage. Most who had known had simply forgotten its existence.

Further and further Loki fell. He had lost Stark almost instantly. The darkness of the Abyss had swallowed the mortal whole. A small comfort as he watched that man disappear from sight. He could hear nothing. He could see nothing. Were it not for the silent wind slapping across his body as he fell, the God would have felt as though he were suspended.

It was strange that he should have clarity at that moment. He wondered how quickly they would discover his "escape." Why? Why had it not occurred to him to disappear? It would've been easy to hide in some secret passageway. Surely Stark would've escaped his grasp temporarily but… it could have meant his freedom. Would they find the hole quickly? Would they know what happened? Surely not the finer details, but Stark's presence… and his… it would be missed. He would be missed. How foolish. No better than Thor, single-mindedly pursuing the Jotun, regardless of the cost. Sentiment. It was the disease of many. He had allowed his passion to rule over intelligent thought.

Unable to bear the sight of unending darkness, Loki shut his eyes. Not in acceptance. A death such as this was unsuited to a prince. Instead, he reached deeply inside, clawing at the binds that ensnared his magic. It was there – he felt it when he had blasted down the prison door. It was just behind… a wall, already worn down from his previous actions. Chipped away. Suicidal to force it further, but if he didn't…

Loki felt a strange ripple around his body. Puzzled, the god cracked open his eyes. Light blossomed before him, stinging his eyes. Loki could have laughed. It…this was Midgard. Home of the Mortals. His body hurtled toward the ground.

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**Author Comments**: I know this chapter is shorter than the last. I felt like a chase scene could only go on for so long before it became tedious. It was tempting to continue… but that just didn't flow right.

**Review Responses**

To Ynath Esrith: Trolololol, then my work here is done. At least for this chapter. I hope, despite hating (mostly) everyone, that it was a good read. :)


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